I HATE/LOVE MY JOB

There are many more songwriters in Nashville (and by "Nashville" I mean the whole industry) than there are open spots on projects for songwriters like me to get cuts. So ANY cut is somewhat a miracle. But on days like today the odds really seem astounding: My publisher sent out an e-mail to all of us staff writers letting us know that a big artist is needing ONE MORE SONG for the record. ONE MORE SONG. One slot vs. thousands of writers. This is a really great artist who wants to say great things and who will sell really well (it’s rare that you have both) and so we all drop everything and pull out our best ideas — our best hooks, our best lyrics, our best melodies. Our best, period. Of course we all know that every other writer in town is doing the same thing and that we probably WON’T get the cut. But…we’re songwriters — we’re used to rejection — we can take it. And maybe, just maybe, the miracle will land on our shoulders this time. So, we are all scrambling, typing and then hitting "delete", erasing, rewinding, trying to find a clever new rhyme for "love", singing that one line over and over hoping the right melody will pop through the bad one that’s been stuck in your head for an hour, pushing the envelope (but not too much), trying to be original yet familiar, hoping against hope, pushing past the doubts into creativity, searching deep inside for something that sounds like it came from deep inside. Attempting to be relevant in a commercial-sell-a-million kind of way. I’m sorry if I’m bursting anyone’s perceptions that songwriters just sit at a piano and the words fall from heaven like raindrops, but it’s mostly just pushing through. It’s a horrible way to spend the day. And I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world! (I’ll let you know if I get the cut, but don’t hold your breath!)